


Pas de Deux

by Elsie_Snuffin



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, And Ziva does ballet, F/M, Fluff, In which Tony is a peeping Tom, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsie_Snuffin/pseuds/Elsie_Snuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Tiva. Tony and Ziva are neighbors and meet in a different fashion. Takes place sometime toward the end of season 2, but there is no Ari, so Kate is alive. One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by this OTP tumblr prompt: Person A and Person B live in buildings opposite each other and have never met. One night, Person A forgets to cover the windows and Person B sees them [insert weird/dirty/silly/cute action]. Whether or not Person A notices is up to you. Bonus: Person A notices and continues just to keep the show going. Double Bonus: Person B joins in.
> 
> I know, I know, I'm in the middle of two other multi-chapter stories. But I wanted to work on dialogue, so here we go. Feedback feeds my soul.

A day after she arrives in the US in the jump seat of a cargo plane, her belongings finally join her in the apartment that she will call home for at least the next year. She breathes a sigh of relief when the delivery man finishes stacking the boxes against the wall in her hallway. Now she has the things that will make this feel like a true home. If this newly created liaison position with NCIS works out, it will be the longest time she has lived in one place since she was sixteen.

She spends the rest of the day unpacking the boxes, not noticing that the sun is setting until she finds herself squinting to read the authors on the spine of her books as she alphabetizes them on her bookshelf. Sighing, she stands up and flicks a few switches until she finds the one that turns on the lights in her living room. She stretches, trying to remove the stiffness from her shoulders, to no avail. She goes over to another box and digs around until she finds the items for which she searches. Then she goes into the bedroom to change.

***

Another long day at the office, but at least he closed a cold case. He tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter on his way to the fridge to grab a beer and the leftover pizza from last night. How many more weeks will he be stuck working cold cases in the basement while his real team is out in the field? As he plops onto the couch and takes a swig of beer, he thinks about the joke he made at Director Morrow’s expense without knowing that the very man was standing right behind him that led to this cold case team reassignment. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t even a good joke. Maybe that was why the director had punished him so harshly.

He sighs and turns on the tv. He surfs through the channels and is unable to find anything that keeps his attention. Maybe focusing on years’ old cases all day has short circuited his ability to pay attention. He looks out his window and notices a light on in a window that had been dark for months. That apartment must have a new tenant. His new neighbor hasn’t drawn their curtain, so he gets a full view of a slender woman stretching, her shirt riding up to expose an inch of skin. Her dark curly hair is swept up into a ponytail and, at this distance, she is beautiful. His interest is piqued, and he forgets about the tv.

Too soon, she leaves what looks like her living room and a light turns on in the adjacent room. The curtain is drawn there, so he can’t see, and he hopes she, whoever she is, comes back to her living room so he can continue enjoying the show. He feels a little like a peeping tom, but in his mood, he simply doesn’t care. Plus, it’s not likely she will notice him. 

She doesn't disappoint. She returns to the living room, dressed in shorts and a tank top. He wonders what she is doing as she carries over a chair, but then she stands next to it and begins moving in a slow and controlled fashion. Her legs bend and straighten, her feet point and flex, and the arm that isn't holding on to the back of the chair sweeps through the air slowly. 

He is mesmerized and watches her, pizza forgotten. She is graceful, her body lithe, back straight, head held high. He can't name the moves she makes but knows that they are classical ballet. Maybe she is a new member of the DC professional ballet company. Having a ballerina as a neighbor would surely come with perks.

***

After a half hour of running through an old barre warmup exercise of plies, tendus, releves, dégagés, and battements, her body feels relaxed and loose again. She finishes her routine with a few arabesques, and she concentrates on staying centered, like her old ballet instructor used to tell her. 

As she returns the chair to the small dining area, she gets the feeling that she is being watched. She was so wrapped up in her routine that she didn't notice before. She looks around and her eye catches on the window. Through it, she can make out a bare window in an apartment across the street. And there is a figure standing at the window.

She walks over to her window to get a better look. The man standing there looks broad shouldered and seems unbothered by the fact that she has caught him watching her. He holds up what looks like a beer bottle and makes a movement like he is toasting her. She smiles, a little baffled, and holds up a hand in greeting before closing the curtains with a quick swish.

***

He meets Kate Todd, his regular field partner, for coffee the next day. “Why did you have to tell that stupid joke?” she grumbles at him as they sit on a bench near the coffee cart. 

“Look, no one is suffering more than me. I'm stuck with the reject agents going through cold cases. Files and files of cold cases,” he replies. “Is Gibbs still pissed at the director?”

She rolls her eyes. “What do you think? We're short an agent.” She pauses to take a sip of her coffee before adding a bombshell. “Someone new starts tomorrow.”

His head whips around to look at her so fast that he thinks he has whiplash. “What? Gibbs replaced me?!”

“No, you idiot. Liaison position created by Assistant Director Shepard. A Mossad officer will be joining the team.”

He frowns. Mossad is only one of the most secretive international intelligence agencies. He can't imagine what this officer will be like. “Where's this person gonna sit? Don't tell me my desk. My desk is sacred.”

She snorts. “What, because of those dirty magazines you have in the second drawer?” He gives her his best  _ well yeah _ look. “She'll be sitting there but only for the next two weeks, then I guess she'll get my desk.”

“But my desk…” He trails off as the rest of her sentence registers. “Wait. Where are you going to sit?”

“Columbus,” she says nonchalantly. 

He gapes at her. “What?”

She doesn't meet his eyes as she repeats, “Columbus. Ohio. I requested a transfer to the Defense Criminal Investigative Services field office there. I leave in two weeks.”

“Why?” he demands.

“My sister is sick. Breast cancer. I want to be closer to her,” she says, looking at him sadly. 

His expression melts at her downcast face and he puts a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Kate. We're going to miss you.”

She smiles ruefully. “I'll miss Gibbs and McGee and Abby.” He puts on a mock-offended face, and she huffs out a laugh. “And you, though it depends on your mood. In the meantime, I'll be giving the new liaison officer a crash course in how to work with Gibbs. It should be fun. I hear Mossad is just full of cooperative spirit.”

He smirks at her last sarcastic comment, but thinks about how much he is going to miss her and her often prissy attitude. Hopefully this new Mossad coworker knows how to take a joke, though he doubts it. Mossad is not known for its humor.

***

That night, he notices that the curtains are again pulled back from the window across the street. And the slim, dark haired woman is dressed in leggings and a baggy top that exposes a shoulder and going through a similar routine as the previous night. 

He watches her almost absentmindedly this time. His thoughts are on the fact that when he returns to the MCRT, Kate won't be there and some Mossad assassin newbie will be sitting at her desk. He isn't a big fan of change, but he is more concerned about Gibbs’ reaction to all this. Without Kate around to make him feel fatherly at least every once in a while, Tony worries that he'll work them even harder than he already does. And though McGee hasn't broken yet, it's only a matter of time. Tony sometimes suspects the tech geek is too soft to be a field agent.

Suddenly, he notices that the woman across the street has finished her exercise and is standing in front of her window, seemingly watching him watch her. Before he can feel anything resembling embarrassment, she holds up a beer bottle and mimics the gesture he gave her last night. He laughs. He salutes her, then does a poor impression of a pirouette, almost knocking over a lamp. He can see her shoulders shake from laughter and he is again struck by how beautiful she is. And she has a sense of humor. He  _ has _ to meet this woman.

He holds his hand up in a friendly wave and she does the same, then she closes the curtains with a swish. 

***

Her first day as the Mossad liaison officer to NCIS. She is greeted at the entrance by a dark haired woman who introduces herself as Agent Caitlin Todd. “Call me Kate,” she says, holding out her hand and giving her an easy smile. 

“Ziva David,” she replies, shaking her hand. The other woman is a bit shorter than her and dressed in a skirt suit and heels. She wonders vaguely if she is underdressed in her cargo pants, simple lavender shirt, and military boots. It is her usual Mossad attire, perfect for carrying out missions.

They walk through security, where Ziva removes the knife she carries in one of her pants pockets. In the elevator, Kate chats about the building and the team generally. She is direct and to the point. Ziva mostly nods. When the elevator doors open to reveal a space that Kate calls “the bullpen,” she nods to a desk. “You’ll sit there for now, then when I leave, you can take over my desk,” she tells her.

The desk has a stack of papers on it and looks occupied. When Ziva asks, Kate tells her about the agent who has been temporarily reassigned to cold cases because of a dumb joke he made about the director. At this, Ziva’s eyebrows raise. She is going to be working with an agent disrespectful enough of authority to joke about the director? “This agent sounds uh…” she trails off, searching for the right English word.

“Extremely immature?” Kate supplies and Ziva nods. Close enough. “Yeah, Tony is that, alright.”

A man sitting at the desk next to her interjects, saying, “Didn’t you once call him an x-rated Peter Pan?”

Kate laughs. “Yeah, I did. And that’s totally him.”

“X-rated Peter Pan?” Ziva repeats slowly. Her face must reflect her mystification, because the other man explains. She smiles at him in gratitude. She can tell already that American idioms are going to be a problem and wonders if there is a book that can help her.

“I’m Tim McGee, by the way. You must be the new Mossad liaison officer,” the man says, offering his hand.

“Ziva David,” she responds, shaking his hand. “It is nice to meet you.”

A grey haired man with a distinct Marine look to him strides into the bullpen. Ziva recognizes him from her dossier as Leroy Jethro Gibbs, team leader. “What is this, social hour?” he asks, not looking at them on his way to what she assumes is his desk.

“Our new team member is here,” Kate explains.

“Ziva David,” she repeats, saying her name for what feels like the thousandth time that morning. At Mossad, because of her father, everyone automatically knew who she was. Having a bit more anonymity is nice, but introducing herself to so many people is not. She steps closer to his desk and holds out her hand.

The man ignores her extended hand and instead gives her an icy stare. “Officer David, why does Mossad feel they need to liaise with NCIS?” he asks.

She takes her hand back and raises her eyebrows. “I do not know. You will have to ask my father and Assistant Director Shepard,” she responds.

“Your father is Mossad Deputy Director David.” It is a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” she responds, unable to hide the sharpness in her tone. Gibbs’ blue eyes tick past her to glare at the agents behind her and she hears them scatter back to their respective desks.

He refocuses on her and asks another question. “What kind of investigative experience do you have, Officer David?”

She wonders if he knows that she is an assassin, though she guesses so. Just like he probably knows she has dossiers on all of them. “Not a lot, but I am a quick learner,” she replies simply. 

He huffs out a breath and snorts. “Yeah, you better. You have two weeks to shadow Agent Todd, then she leaves and you take her place. You will do nothing but observe until I say otherwise. Got it?”

If she has been trained to do anything, it is to follow orders. “Yes, sir,” she replies.

Finally, he looks away from her to glare instead at his computer screen. “Don’t call me sir,” he says. “You can sit at DiNozzo’s desk for now. Probably don’t want to open the second drawer.”

***

To her disappointment, they do not get called for a case that day. Instead, she listens to Kate drone on and on about protocols and procedures, with Agent McGee occasionally chiming in. None of it sounds overwhelming and she figures she'll be able to figure it all out easily enough. She notices that Gibbs does not say very much and he often gets up and leaves for extended periods of time without saying anything to anyone. She asks about it during one of his absences and Kate laughs. “Yeah, he does that. Tony calls him a functional mute.”

Just after lunch, a tall woman with dark hair in pigtails - what grown woman puts her hair in pigtails? - wearing all black appears. “Kate!” she cries, running over to her, or she would be running if her platform boots were not so tall. “Save me from my boredom!” This girl suddenly stops and turns to look at Ziva sitting at her desk. Or, rather, this Tony person’s desk. “You aren’t Tony,” she says obviously.

“Is everyone here so observant?” Ziva says, unable to keep some of the snark out of her voice. Who in the world is this person and how is her attire professional or even practical?

The other girl frowns but before she can say anything, Kate interjects. “Ziva, this is Abby Sciuto. She’s our brilliant forensic scientist. Tony calls her the happiest goth you’ll ever meet. Abby, this is Ziva David. She’s the Mossad liaison officer who’ll be with us for a while.”

Abby’s frown is replaced by a big, welcoming smile. Ziva returns it, albeit cautiously. Then before she knows it, Abby is in front of her and enveloping her in a big hug. Kate laughs at the expression on Ziva’s face as she stands stiffly. “Abby is also our resident hugger,” she explains. 

“Ah,” Ziva says as Abby releases her. 

“I better get back to my lab before Gibbs comes back, but drinks tonight. The usual place. We want to hear all about you, Ziva. You in, Timmy? I’ll tell Tony!” Abby says, scampering back in the direction from which she came. 

“Um,” Agent McGee gets out before Abby disappears. “I guess we’re going for drinks tonight,” he says. “Abby takes it personally if she invites you out for drinks and you don’t go.”

Ziva shrugs. It’s not like she has plans, and she is curious to meet this Tony, the x-rated Peter Pan.

***

Tony taps his fingers on the table of the corner booth in their favorite bar near the office, waiting for the others to arrive. He nurses a beer and ignores the glares he gets from incoming groups of people who want the coveted booth. He smirks to himself. Getting cold case duty does have its benefits, like getting to go home at a decent hour every night. He hasn’t work such regular hours in years. He glances at his cell phone often, hoping that he does not get a text from Kate or McGee saying that they got a case. He misses his team and wants to catch up.

Finally, he sees the group enter - Abby first, then Kate and McGee and… is that his new neighbor? He would recognize her long curly hair and prominent widow’s peak anywhere, even if he has only seen her from a distance. He wonders if she just arrived at the same time as his coworkers and is there purely by coincidence, but then Kate hangs back to whisper something in her ear. He stares at them, at her, as they approach him and he pieces things together. He blinks as he realizes that his mysterious new neighbor is actually the Mossad liaison officer assigned to his team and not a professional ballerina.

She is even more beautiful up close. Her facial features are delicate, makeup minimal if she wears any at all, her skin sun-kissed, and she has a self-assured air about her that he finds incredibly sexy. As Kate introduces her as Ziva David, Mossad liaison officer, he sees a spark of recognition in her brown eyes, though she does not say anything about how they sort of know each other already. She just holds out her hand and smiles. He shakes it, unable to say anything for once in his life.

“Kate tells me that you are an x-rated Peter Pan,” the woman says in an accented voice that he thinks is teasing. The others laugh.

He gives Kate a pointed look. “Don’t listen to anything she says. I can’t help it if she is the queen of prudes.”

Everyone but Ziva laughs. “What is a prude?” she asks, looking mildly confused.

“You know, someone who doesn’t like sexual innuendos, covers her eyes at the sex scenes of movies, basically acts like a nun,” Tony explains. 

“Hey!” Kate says, reaching over to slap his arm. “I’m Catholic, so sue me.”

“Drinks!” Abby cries before they can escalate their bickering. “First round is on me! McGee, come help me,” she commands, and the two of them go over to the bar. 

Tony takes that opportunity to slide closer to Ziva. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Kate’s eyeroll and knowing smile. “How do you not know what prude means?” he asks, partly teasing.

Ziva shrugs. “I am fluent in 10 languages. I have not spent enough time in the US to get all of the slang.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll pick all of it up soon enough with Tony around,” Kate says. “All he does is quote movies.”

“True, but I do so much more than that,” he responds, quirking his eyebrows. Kate rolls her eyes again and he grins at her suggestively.

Ziva turns her attention to Kate. “Are Abby and Agent McGee dating?” she asks.

Kate looks at her, surprised. “Yeah. I mean, no. But they used to,” she answers. “They’re still good friends.”

“Gibbs has these rules,” Tony adds. “One of them is that you shouldn’t date a coworker. Rule 12.”

“I see,” Ziva responds, then looks him up and down in a way that almost makes him blush. “Too bad,” she adds.

Before he can respond, Abby and McGee return with beers.

***

After a few hours, during which Abby grills her on her history and she finds herself not minding, Kate looks at her watch. “Alright kiddos, I think it’s time to go home. It’s a school night,” she says. 

“We need to have more nights out before you leave us, Kate,” Abby says, slurring her words a little. 

Kate smiles and gives her a hug. “Of course we will,” she says fondly. It is clear that the agent and the forensic scientist are good friends. Ziva feels a little strange in their presence, unused to having female coworkers. 

“How’re you getting home, Abs?” Tony asks.

“I’m giving her a ride,” Agent McGee responds, holding on to Abby’s arm as she stumbles a little. “Bye guys,” he adds as he leads her away.

The remaining three head back to the NCIS parking lot as Ziva remembers with a grimace that she took the bus this morning. Mossad has rented a car for her but it will not be ready until the weekend. “Do the buses run this late?” she asks the other two.

“What?” Kate asks, then seems to remember. “Oh my gosh, you didn’t drive in, did you? I’ll give you a ride home.”

Just as Ziva is about to thank her, Tony interrupts. “Naw, you live in the opposite direction. I’ll give her a ride,” he says.

Kate gives him a suspicious look. “How do you know where she lives?”

“Uh,” he responds, not wanting to tell her the whole story. She would definitely accuse him of being a pervert.

“We have seen each other running in the mornings,” Ziva says, quicker on her feet with lies.

“Running in the mornings? Since when, Tony?” Kate asks, still suspicious, her eyes still on him.

He frowns at her. “Hey, I run!”

She snorts. “Yeah, just not in the morning and only when you have to catch someone.”

They banter back and forth about his workout habits as Ziva walks with them, silently listening. It is clear they have a strong partnership, and their good-natured bickering reminds her of the arguments she used to have with her little sister. Finally, Tony stops next to a flashy sports car, which he unlocks with the beep of a remote. “Alright, Agent Todd,” he says, “It was fun.”

Ziva smiles at the other woman. “Thank you for all your help today. I will see you tomorrow,” she says.

“If Tony doesn’t kill you with his driving,” Kate says wryly, unable to resist one last insult. She waves to Ziva and walks off.

Ziva gets into the passenger seat and turns to Tony. “What is wrong with your driving?” she demands.

He shrugs. “Nothing. She just thinks I drive too fast.”

“Oh. In Israel, we drive fast. Helps avoid any possible terrorist attacks.” He thinks she is serious, and he is struck by how different her life must be.

“Listen,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto a mostly empty street. “I’m sorry about spying on you the other night.”

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “I believe that is nights, plural,” she says.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says dismissively. “It was still an invasion of privacy.”

After a minute, she responds. “You are a lousy spy. It was very easy to pick you out. But I did not close the curtains. It makes no difference to me if you were watching.”

They lapse into silence as he drives. Eventually, he says, “So you’re a ballerina?”

“I was,” she replies.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks.

In his peripheral vision, he sees her shrug. “There was no time when I was in the IDF. Then I was recruited into Mossad and there really was no time.” Her voice sounds downcast.

He nods, understanding. He doesn’t get to play as much basketball as he would like. It goes with the job. He changes the subject. “Are you really an assassin?”

She laughs. “Would it scare you if I said I am?” she asks, her tone teasing.

“Uh, maybe,” he replies, giving her a somewhat nervous grin. 

“I follow my orders,” she answers simply, and then lapses back into silence, looking out the window.

He is adept at reading people, a skill that goes along with the job, and if he is reading her correctly, she seems sad. Not homesick, but melancholy, and he isn’t sure why. Sooner than he would like, they are near their apartments, and he searches for parking. He finds a spot three blocks away and he expertly zips his car into the space. 

They walk toward their respective apartment buildings together. She still looks lost in thought and he finds himself unable to think of anything to say to her, which is unusual for him, Tony DiNozzo, charmer of women. They stop in front of her building and she turns to face him. “Thank you for driving me home,” she says just as he asks, “You want to come over for a nightcap?”

She tilts her head and gives him what is by now a familiar  _ does not compute _ look. “One last drink,” he explains.

“Okay,” she says after a moment, smiling slightly. They cross the street and head over to his place.

Once inside his apartment, he has no idea why he invited her over. It isn’t like they’re having a riveting conversation, and they have to work tomorrow. Along the same point, he wonders why she accepted. He shrugs to himself and digs through his kitchen. “I have beer, wine, vodka, and scotch,” he calls out to her in the living room.

She does not respond and he wonders if she realized her mistake and stealthily snuck out. Then he jumps as she says, right behind him, “Scotch would be nice.” She smirks at his reaction and hops up to sit on his kitchen counter. “You have a nice apartment,” she comments as he pulls out two glass tumblers and pours scotch into both.

“Thanks,” he says, handing her a glass. He leans against the island opposite where she sits. Unbidden, a thought pops into his head that her sitting on the counter puts her at the perfect height for him to fit right between her legs. He blinks and takes a sip of the scotch. Maybe he’s a little more buzzed than he thought. Not that having sex with a woman he met that night would be foreign to him, except they work together and that’s a line he has yet to cross.

She seems blissfully unaware of the dirty thoughts in his head. Her melancholy mood also seems to have lifted. She pokes his knee with her toe. “Why were you watching me the other night?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Oh, you know. Nothing on tv.” Which, he supposes, isn’t far from the truth.

“Okay, but then why did you watch me the next night? Nothing good on tv two nights in a row?” she presses, a teasing lilt to her voice. He thinks that he would not mind drowning in her rich accent.

He thinks for a moment, thinking about the best way to respond. He opts for the truth. “Because you’re beautiful.”

“You must say that to all the women,” she says, still teasing, a pleased smile playing on her lips all the same.

He shrugs and smiles back. “Only the ones who are beautiful.”

“So,” she says.

“So,” he repeats. He knows he should stop flirting with her but he can’t help himself.

“So,” she says again, then continues. “Tell me about this Rule 12.”

_ That damn rule _ . “What about it?” he asks.

She shrugs a shoulder. “Is it a rule or more of a guideline?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’ve never asked. Or broken it,” he replies. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just taking notes,” she says casually. In the meantime, she is looking at him in a way that can only be described as seductively. 

He can’t help himself. He sets down his glass and takes a step toward her. “I think you mean taking note, singular” he corrects her.

She shrugs a shoulder again. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” she says dismissively. Like a waft of smoke, she leans toward him ever so slightly. The closer he gets to her, the more beautiful she is and he can’t help himself. He takes another step and brushes a stray curl away from her face before he leans in and kisses her.

When she doesn’t pull back, he reaches up to tangle his fingers in her hair. She pulls him closer to her so he is standing between her legs, which she wraps around his hips, and digs her fingers into his upper arms. He has had his share of good kisses in the past, but this is a new level of good. After a long moment, he uses every ounce of self-control he possesses to get a grip on himself and pull away from her.  _ Coworker coworker coworker _ he reminds himself.

They gaze at each other, catching their breaths. “I think you’d better go,” he says, hating himself but knowing it is the right move if they are going to be effective partners.

She regards him for another moment, her dark eyes searching his face, then jumps off the counter. “That is probably wisest,” she says, although he thinks he can detect disappointment in her voice. 

He allows himself one more kiss, a light brush of the lips. He brushes another stray curl out of her face and tells her, “It was nice to meet you.”

She smiles beguilingly at him. “You too. See you at work,” she says, picking her purse off his couch and walking out his door.

Things are going to get  _ really _ interesting when he gets himself back on Gibbs’ team.

 

END.


End file.
